In an age of smoke and mirrors, where restaurateurs typically spend bajillions of dollars nailing the look of their new offering to the hospitality gods, it’s downright refreshing to see someone win the game by doing precisely nothing. Nothing – or a close approximation thereof, if you ignore the new resident DJ – is what has helped elevate Leonardo’s Pizza Palace to the exalted status of the latest “it” place where a no-bookings policy regularly sees pizza hopefuls cooling their heels on the Grattan Street footpath.
Leonardo’s has taken up residence in the former Da Salvatore Pizza by the Metre and honoured the spirit of the Wild West leadlight windows, red brick archways and acres of dark polished timber that came with it. The equally irreverent sibling to Leonard’s House of Love in South Yarra, Leonardo’s is more spaghetti western than Neapolitan puritan. The pizzas follow suit, the New York-style pies going fatter on the base with plenty of spongy chew and char.
Forget the keto diet until tomorrow. This is a supremely bready kind of place. It’s where a side of ranch sauce arrives with pizza (you know… for crust dipping) and where crostini dominates the starters list. Saddle your toasted bread up with a spicy smoosh of ‘nduja and jalapenos, or a butterflied, pan-fried sardine with creamy whipped bottarga and vivid yellow cucumber slices bring the retro sweet pickle action. Spaghetti with mussels is elevated by a tomato-based sauce infused with enough crustacean bodies an

Five years down the track, Le Bon Ton is no longer one of the scant few declaring smoked meats, late nights and liquor their thing, so how do they fare in 2019? Not much has changed - exposed brick, copper accents, dripping candles, feature bar and an opulent New Orleans design brief are all still in place – but they’ve settled into their Collingwood home and now make vegans feel as welcome as omnivores with a menu spanning the southern belt of America.
Jeremy and Christopher Sutphin are still in charge of the food, with Jeremy keeping an eye on the smoke and Christopher manning the pans. A quick word of warning, for those of you still looking to gorge on oysters, fried chicken and peanut butter pies in the wee hours of the morning, their late-night menu is only available on Friday and Saturday nights; throughout the week, the kitchen closes at a reasonable 10pm. You’ll also notice a key across their menu, pointing out dishes that can be made gluten-free, vegetarian or vegan: the kitchen is more flexible and you and yours will also receive your feast a lot faster. Wins all around.
The carte is huge. You’ve got oysters, chilli cheese fries, Texas caviar, fried chicken with gravy, tacos, cheeseburgers, a Carolina crab boil and salads, and we haven’t even mentioned the barbecue. This is not a place for first dates, but somewhere you bring bulk appetites so you can order large and leave your table manners at the door.
The service here is tight and much more polished than you

Think of South American food in Melbourne and images of a chimichurri-laden steak at San Telmo, Palermo’s dulce de leche crème caramel or the all-you-can-eat barbecue at B’Churrasco might spring to mind. But there is also a lesser known smattering of no-frills eateries specialising in the national cuisines of the continent, primarily serving the rising numbers of Latinx expats who call Melbourne home.
Windsor’s La Tienda, opened by Colombian-born John Gomez in early 2018, bears no obvious Melbournian touches: this place serves Colombian street food in undiluted Colombian décor – soccer jerseys jostle for attention amongst murals of famous sights, festivals and Shakira. Murmurs of Spanish can be heard over the euphony of reggaeton and the whirring of the juicer pumping out thick and creamy concoctions of passionfruit, soursop or lulo (a fruit indigenous to South America that tastes somewhere between rhubarb and lime) with milk or water. Sip on Aguardiente Antioqueno (anise and sugar cane liquor) or wash down a Club Colombia pilsner with patacombos – tiny bowls of onion-laced guac, ricotta, pulled beef and house-made tomato and onion salsa, which is not quite enough coverage for four large deep-fried plantains.
Colombia’s favourite snack, arepa, takes centre stage. They're made in-house and range from mild-tasting maize discs kissed by the grill and served with ricotta cheese, grilled corn or spicy Colombian chorizo, to stuffed pockets that can barely contain the melty mozza

Fame and foot traffic may make Hardware Lane one of the city’s most lucrative addresses, but recent times have seen it become more a hotspot for spruikers and snap-happy tourists than a place where locals choose to go. Amid all the mediocre pasta and manhandling, the warm glow of Kirk’s Wine Bar shines extra bright.
When Kirk’s opened in 2015 it immediately felt like a substantive thread in our city’s fabric, with its familiar, lived-in feel, confident service and mature wine list. At last, Spring Street sophistication had come to the shouty end of town. Years have passed, but it feels as essential as ever, proving that a classic wine bar, done well, never goes out of fashion.
Their list is as deep as it is broad, paying respect to all the old-world staples before giving equal ardour to trailblazing makers like Radikon and local innovators like Memento Mori. Such is the beauty of Kirk’s – you can start in style with a glass of creamy, mineral-rich Pinson chablis, then take an edgy turn with Pittnauer’s deep yet lithe Zweigelt-Blaufränkisch. The biodynamic blend tastes somewhere between a pinot and a shiraz, and is plush with stonefruit, chai spices – a lesson in the undersung wine regions of Austria.
They’re also a champion for fortifieds. Forget an Aperol Spritz: a pour of Maidenii classic vermouth over ice, with its complex murmurs of bitters, herbs and citrus, is the only thing we want to be drinking over a sweaty summer, while nips of sweet, berry-rich Niepoort ruby po

Collingwood, Carlton, North Fitzroy; no, we’re not listing your share house rental history, these are the locations of Bluebonnet’s last three addresses. But after this wandering American barbecue joint's third location fell victim to Melbourne’s obsession with redevelopment, they settled on a permanent home (and signed a 20-year lease) on the buzzing Lygon St strip of East Brunswick, a stone’s throw away from Rumi, Bar Idda, 400 Gradi, and the Alderman.Seeing as Bluebonnet’s had a few goes to get their fit outright, it is no coincidence that the new restaurant has considered every possible scenario for every person, only this time around, they’ve gone for the grand dining hall aesthetic over the junkyard look. There’s outdoor seating for those who like to be elbow-deep in ribs with wind in their hair; large tables next to windows that open(!) for families requiring kid-and-pram space; high top spots for a catch up over a pint and a chew; dining room tables for a more intimate setting, and bar seating. They’ve even thrown in a pool table in a side room so you can linger amongst the swanky wood, whisky and meat.The food is almost the same as what chef Chris Terlikar has been slinging in the past, but there’s more. More meaty options like a one-kilogram Black Angus beef tomahawk steak, beef cheek and smoked, fried chicken served by the quarter bird. Meats come in one hundred or two-hundred grams, but barbecue sneaks up on you, so to sample more stick with the smaller serves. An

Dateline: Lygon Street. Toto’s Pizza House is just to the south; Universal Café just to the north. We’re in the Italian heartland where spruikers induce passers-by into their red sauce fiefdoms. And into this kingdom of carbs and cheese comes Kazuki’s. Yes, the Japanese-ish, French-ish modern restaurant from Daylesford has swum against the tide of real estate refugees moving to central Victoria and upped stumps to the city.
So what would induce two successful restaurateurs such as Kazuki and Saori Tsuya to take reopen in the big smoke after seven years in the country? (Incidentally, there’s still reason to seek them out at the Daylesford address, now a more casual Japanese diner called Sakana). Luckily our task at hand is not to enter the fevered minds of hospo folk but to judge their actions. And the augurs for Kazuki’s – and indeed for Lygon Street itself - are good.
It’s an evolution of the Daylesford mothership in every regard. A startlingly zen-like fit-out courtesy of Design Office has banished every layer of surplus detail. The grey-blue walls are boldly bare. The soft yellow-gold carpet is blissfully sound-quashing. Two supersized paper lanterns, one of the few decorative flourishes allowed, adroitly carry the Japanesque theme, as does the parade of wabi-sabi (perfectly imperfect) ceramics.
The aesthetics are just as keenly realised on those plates. Kazuki-san remains executive chef but has stepped onto the floor, mostly leaving kitchen duties to head chef Anthony

If ever there was a restaurant aimed directly at the jugular of anyone under the age of 30, Cheek is it. Cheek was born under the star sign of 'go hard or go home'. It is the restaurant equivalent of a summer dance party; the place to woo a date against an backdrop of the pretty young things who’ve flocked to this pink-staircased bower above Swanston Street.
It’s the sibling to Dexter, Preston’s home of American barbecue, but Cheek is a more metrosexual beast. With no fixed geographical point of reference and a vague mission statement involving “meat, but not as you know it”, Cheek is a restaurant designed for people who’ve come of restaurant age in a post-canonical world. It pulls Korean moves on the steak tartare, adds some Chinese heft to the duck and argues a Transatlantic case on the steak.
A sleek fit-out makes like a sexy spaceship with a tableau of meat hanging at one end and an intergalactic, backlit wall of low-fi-leaning wine. Cheek has the ambition to match the looks (a bar on the floor above and a rooftop are due to open soon) and a quorum of hard, shiny surfaces to create the aural equivalent of a stadium concert. It’s predictably busy and staff work hard to keep the the caboose on the rails.
Prawn crackers with a sprinkling of barbecue dust and edamame lolling in a luscious savoury buttery are the primers for a menu that sticks to a broadly barbecue theme. Golden-breaded chicken wings with yuzu kosho mayo take the finger food of the Deep South on a Tokyo hol

It’s finally here. A bouncing baby restaurant, now three months old and doing well. Lesa sure as hell took its time (the reno of the space above Embla took around three years, a record rivalled only by the recently reopened King and Godfree in Carlton) but has already made a calculated claim on Melbourne’s food and booze-loving heart.
On the matter of the latter: like Embla, the wine list gets its pom-poms out for the shock of the new. First contact with a raft of unfamiliar names make it wise to enlist the help of sommelier Raffaele Mastrovincenzo, previously seen at the likes of Kappo and Ides, who’s armed and dangerous with toasty classic Champagne, freaky Oz wines and even the cherry vermouth chef Dave Verheul’s been experimenting with (spoiler alert: it’s good. A side career beckons).
Find the separate Lesa entrance on Russell Street and ascend to a restaurant dressed with a patina of age. Red brick walls, low-flying lights, and vintage bits and pieces bring it into line with the non-showy aesthetic that’s become the trademark of owners Christian McCabe and Verheul. It’s a place built for people to relax into good times.
You have to order charry rounds of charry, warm, fermented potato flatbread (yes, they’re $8 but you’ll soon forget the outrage) with nutty macadamia cream and shiitake oil the consistency of sump oil that carries an hyper-concentrated, meaty umaminess.
If you simply can’t face another tartare, try Lesa’s and see why Verheul is the master of the art

You could be forgiven for thinking the Uber driver has made a star-losing mistake pulling up outside Navi. Something about the off-village Yarraville street, the nondescript neighbours, the hazy curtains obscuring the view inside, conjure that unsettling feeling of “we’re in the wrong place”.
But, lo: Navi does indeed lurk behind those gossamer threads. Inside is a fine dining den of distinction, where cork tiles line the ceiling, moody hues rule the walls, and a mere 25 seats dot the narrow shopfront floor and the bar overlooking the cooking action. Taking the great leap into the ownership unknown, chef Julian Hills has bet his family’s future happiness that Yarraville can sustain a proper restaurant where tweezers are part of the kitchen arsenal and a $120-a-head, 10-course tasting menu is the price of admission. Considering the current wait for a couple of seats at the bar is two months, he’d appear to be onto a winner.
As befitting a chef who helmed Mornington Peninsula winery restaurant Paringa Estate for the past six years and left its mantle groaning with trophies, Hills wasn’t about to open a place with half-priced pizza on Tuesdays. Navi is a chef’s-own temple, down to the a la mode pottery Hills threw himself, the soundtrack of “I'm playing what I goddam like” and the snackage sent in to soften diners up as they acclimatise to the evening ahead (line honours go to raw wallaby and pickled flowers in its cured egg wrapping, ahead of an overtly sweet black garlic mac

Romance isn’t dead, and neither is Romantica. Café Romantica, the legendary 24-hour pizza parlour-slash-dive-bar that closed after 30 years to much sadness, has been reborn as an inviting late night wine bar and restaurant. Gone are the unforgiving fluorescent lights, laminate tables and $5 home brews, supplanted by candles, deep crimson booths and $28 bottles of sour ale.
The pool table has been allowed to stay, as have the terrazzo floors, cleverly recontextualised to feel retro-European chic under a new curved oak bar, art deco lights and bentwood chairs. More importantly, the pizza oven has also been granted amnesty, now producing Neapolitan-style slices with puffy crusts and floppy centres. The ‘Pizza Romantica’, a homage to the bar’s predecessor, keeps things simple and tasty with passata, thick slices of fior di latte and fresh basil. Amp it up with optional nduja, less for the salami itself than for the trickles of spicy orange oil percolating into each slice. Don’t bother with being virtuous – a side of beets are uninspiring with ricotta and wilted mustard leaf, but hope is restored in heartbreakingly crunchy potatoes, parboiled and fried to the fourth dimension. They’re perfect even before dipping in lush garlic mayo giving toum a run for its money in the condiment Olympics.
With wines they’re doing the cool, young, inner burbs thing with their small makers, skin contacts and sulphur-frees. No gripes when that means a perky Little Reddie Refosco rebuffing the vari

A decade is a long time in restaurant years – especially in Melbourne, land of the fickle diner. So what is it about this high-end Cantonese restaurant that’s kept it kicking strong through 38 years, two recessions, the digital age and a plague of screechers decreeing the death of fine dining?
There’s the unwavering attention to detail to start: service at Flower Drum is a carefully choreographed dance, which some of its waiters have been perfecting for 20-plus years. There’s not a second you’re not in someone’s scope from the moment you step into the Market Lane foyer. Hands are shaken. Regulars are greeted by name – they have their own tables and order dishes long gone from the menu. But it’s allowed. So long as executive chef Anthony Lui has the ingredients, he’ll still pull a lemon chicken out of the hat if he’s asked.
These days it’s Anthony’s son Jason marshalling the floor with cool, calm efficiency, keeping track of faces and commanding the six to eight waiters who serve each table. With Jason has come a new era for Flower Drum. There’s a long-held myth that to do it right you had to come prepared with a list of secret, retired off-menu dishes. But this is Cantonese, and some Sichuan, rooted in tradition but with all the vitality of chefs who move and flex with the seasons. It’s a mistake to write the current menu off. And that’s something Jason has helped to fix. He’s ushered the restaurant into the digital age (they even have a Facebook page) and revitalised the

If you’re more a restaurant toe-dipper than a card-carrying fanatic, chances are you have some questions about Brae. Namely, “Who is Dan Hunter and why should I drive 130-clicks to let him feed me pig’s blood petit fours?”
For five years, Hunter’s boundary-pushing dishes, sprinkled with obscure vegetation and animal-fats-turned-snacks, made the Royal Mail in Dunkeld a worth-driving-three-hours-to-eat-at phenomenon.
He gave his all to the gardens and team at the ‘Mail. But it was only a matter of time before he took his tweezers and trowel and broke ground at a place of his own. And now, he has – spitting distance from town, right near Birregurra.
Brae occupies the old Sunnybrae site: a garden-girt colonial cottage where you’re now greeted with the crunch of gravel, pistachio trees and smoke from the wood-fired oven. You’re two hours closer to Melbourne, but it’s still an undertaking. Lunch or dinner, you’re looking at $300 a head with wine, and a three-hour, twelve-course mission.
The opening snacks make a serious statement of intent: local stuff, native scrub and obscure proteins all round. Beef tendons are puffed to clouds of mellow, fatty crunch with tart native pepperberry dust giving them a floral shanking. A chewy squid ink pretzel is blasted with pork scratchings – it’s all the roasting pan burnt bits in tasty stick form. Or there’s the raw prawn and finger lime jewels wrapped in a still-stemmed nasturtium leaf, served with its own grilled head. Don’t think. Just c

You probably haven’t heard of Peter Gunn but here’s a tip: remember that name. Ides represents not only the long-time Attica sous chef’s first restaurant but a Platonic ideal of modern fine dining. We reckon you’re going to be hearing a hell of a lot more about him.
But first some introductions. For the past 18 months the expat New Zealander has been running a once-a-month residency at East Melbourne’s Persillade. It went so well he’s struck out on his own, backed by with restaurant soothsayers Peter Bartholomew and David Mackintosh (they of MoVida, Pei Modern, Rosa’s Kitchen & Canteen and Lee Ho Fook fame).
Gunn and Ides have taken over the Smith Street space vacated by Lee Ho Fook, virtually unrecognisable after the wand of designer Grant Cheyne magicked it into a carpeted, elegant, dim-lit room of charcoal greys, leather-coated tables and so much sound baffling you can eavesdrop on the next table. The oldies will love it, but the essential hip factor is sewn up, too: chefs perform plating as performance art on a central bench, and a moody black-and-white portrait of a chip fryer hangs elegantly on the back wall; the soundtrack is '90s hip-hop, and sommelier Raffaele Mastrovincenzo keeps things as interesting (translation: plenty of low-intervention stuff) and plain crazy as he got at Kappo.
So you might get a fantastically original, lightly sparkling Peek-a-Boo Pet-Nat Grenache from McLaren Vale’s Jauma winery, an unfiltered beauty that stands up to the citric sweetne

An idiosyncratic country pub with eclectic furnishings, live bluegrass music from thumpingly good local musicians in the front bar and even an old-fashioned cinema in the backyard, Radio Springs is a great place to get away from it all. Book a room for the night and relax on the verandah with a glass of something cold and local, and work up an appetite for hearty pub grub equally at home going the chicken parma route or hitting a Middle Eastern influence with braised lamb shanks with dried fruits, preserved lemon, moghrabieh and masala.

Ishizuka is a new Japanese restaurant specialising in a kaiseki menu. It’s also a rabbit hole, both quasi-literally (the ordeal of finding it through a nondescript door, along an arcade, down a level via a keypad and elevator and through another nondescript door, can feel a little daunting, which is probably the point) and figuratively, thanks to chef Tomotaka Ishizuka performing the food equivalent of needlepoint.
It’s certainly no wham-bam izakaya. No rousing chorus of “irrashaimase!” greets each diner as they enter, slightly discombobulated after the elevator and keypad ordeal. In a commitment-phobic world it almost requires a session with a therapist to sign up for a 10-plus-course, two-plus-hour procession of miniaturised dishes for $220 a head, sans drinks. But Ishizuka is worth the time, expense, and trouble of finding it.
The room lurking underneath Bourke Street is haunting in its sparseness. Concrete columns are roughly textured to resemble tree trunks. Fake foliage hangs overhead. A hot air balloon-sized, white fabric lantern sections off a bar area like a beautiful hallucination. Chef Ishizuka, who perfected his craft in Kyoto (home of the kaiseki), and most recently headed up Crown’s Japanese glamourpuss Koko, maintains a gentle quiet in his kitchen. His attitude is mirrored by the small team of white-jacketed Japanese waiters who discuss the differing properties of saké with sincerity bordering on reverence.
The comparisons with Minamishima are flying around

We’ve waited a long time for this in Melbourne. The new generation of restaurateurs is rising. They’re the experienced, fiercely educated alums of the juggernauts of the previous era. Andrew Joy (who worked under Andrew McConnell: Cumulus Inc, Cutler and Co, Marion) and Travis Howe (who worked under Mykal and Kate Bartholomew: Coda, Tonka) have taken over the flailing Carlton Wine Room and enlisted McConnell’s longtime right-hand man, John-Paul Twomey, to head the kitchen. Essentially, they’re the dream team.
After a quick refurb, the venue feels dusted off, opened up and less stuffy. They’ve made use of the abundant natural light and licensed footpath, which shakes off the austerity of the past. A lick of white paint and classic Thonet furniture, and they’re laughing. It seems the neighbourhood has taken to the facelift, as the venue is packed every single night, inside and out, rain, hail or shine since it opened. The good news is it takes bookings.
It’s important to note the beverage offerings; this is first and foremost a wine room. When you’re seated, the crew hands you a one-pager of aperitif and cocktails before you even see the food menu. This is an old-school dining sensibility that has been lost in the casual dining culture of today. Needless to say, we are glad to welcome it back. One does have to whet one’s appetite, after all.
The full wine list contains 100 bottles. This isn’t particularly large, but this is one of the most approachable, decipherable and bala

Little Bourke Street, just south of Elizabeth, sure ain't what it used to be. Once the home of camping outlets and tourists fleeing the Hardware Lane touts, it's turned into a mini-rival to Flinders Lane (home of Chin Chin, Cumulus Inc and Supernormal) thanks to the arrival of Kirk's Wine Bar, French Saloon and Tipo 00. Wander past Tipo 00, the strip's most hotly contested piece of real estate, at the unfashionable hour of 5.30pm on a Friday and you'll overhear those who've missed out on a table forlornly working out plan B. Don't despair, good people: your backup plan is now just a shopfront away.
It's round two for Luke Skidmore and Andreas Papadakis, the duo who reaffirmed Melbourne's love for all things Italian and carby when they opened Tipo 00 three years ago. The space formerly known as Scandi Bar Du Nord has been revitalised with the same architectural eye. A patina of age has been added to a layer-cake of Italianisms, from the distressed faux-tiled floor to the bashed-about charms of whitewashed brickwork. It's a mullet of a room – high-tabled party at the front, booths at the back. A long bar, home of Negroni-pushing bartenders, unifies the room before segueing into an open kitchen where Papadakis is dusting off those chef tricks of his that lay dormant in the Tipo era.
What we have here is not so humble as an osteria. Sure, it has an underlying rustic Italian brief, exemplified by the chargrilled whole octopus brutishly splayed over a sauce made of the fiery Cala

It wasn’t long ago that Melbourne was considered the runt of the litter with our limited choices in Thai restaurants. But we’re catching up, with Dodee Paidang joining the authentic ranks of Jinda, Tom Toon Thai Noodle and Soi 38.
Dodee Paidang is a Sydney import from Somporn Phosri – the fourth store of the family. After winning the hearts and tongues of Thai locals in Sydney, he thought it was time to conquer Melbourne. Hidden in the basement of Hotel Causeway, off Little Collins Street, you’ll find the colourful, low-fi and community-driven 150-seater packed to the brim with Thai natives. Thai is the first language spoken here by guests and staff, but service in English is no less friendly or accommodating. Just be sure to project when ordering, as the ‘90s song-stylings of Celine, Mariah or the Backstreet Boys will be blaring over the speakers. Some nights Thai cover bands will be singing their favourite hits. We hope you like Coldplay.
The main event is the signature tom yum noodle, coming in a clean, sweetly porky, hot-and-sour broth hit with generous spoonfuls of fried garlic and topped with crispy wonton strips. Each comes with toppings ranging from seafood to soft pork bone and can be customised with a choice between seven types of noodles, such as glass, rice, instant and supersized, for those with an appetite. Caddies with chillies in fish sauce, chilli powder, vinegar and straight-up sugar are on every table to adjust each bowl to truly make it your own. Competi

Last time Time Out checked in on Attica it was 2012 and things were somewhat different. Ben Shewry and his wife Natalia weren’t yet sole owners, for one. The Iva Foschia makeover to celebrate their exclusive possession of the keys hadn’t yet blackened the timber walls and conjured a dining room worthy of Shewry’s sublime cooking. Perhaps most pertinently – at least for the Shewry family accountant and the busy individual who takes the bookings - it hadn’t climbed to numero uno in Australia on the World’s Best Restaurants list.
Vive la difference. These days Shewry's captain of his own ship. The restaurant has undergone a sexy yet understated makeover that finally banished the ghosts of bank buildings past. Rippon Lea Estate kindly provides space for sprawling kitchen gardens exclusively for the suburb’s favourite son.
Like Neil Finn, Shewry is one of those Kiwis we like to claim as our own (nb: they can keep Russell Crowe) but you can tell by his cooking that he’s got the maverick eye of the outsider. Attica 2.0 gives a cheeky spin on Aussie-isms that a homegrown chef might overlook. There’s a play on smashed avo on toast, a canapé built for the Millennial debate, value-added with fingerlime and juvenile Ripponlea herbs. There’s a mini saltbush lamb pie in a Vegemite-addled crust making a delicious gentle dig. Even the bread goes native: sour damper, made with fermented native grains and served with butter and macadamia cream.
You’d imagine being a World’s Best Restaurants

'Eating house' doesn't quite cut it. ‘All-day diner’ falls worryingly short. In fact, when trying to sum up the place Cumulus Inc plays in Melbourne’s hungry heart, ‘favourite clubhouse’ comes as close as any description. And maybe that’s the thing about our winner of the 2018 Legend Award. Cumulus Inc is so many different things to so many different people. For city office workers, it’s the perfect show-off gaff for breakfast meetings with out-of-towners (bonus points for feigned nonchalance in the face of its boast-worthy fabulousness). For solo lunchers, it’s a place where singleton status is never a problem
(all the better to study the grooming habits of fellow diners). Come evening, it’s the kind of place you want to think about sensible footwear to endure the inevitable queue. And you can’t really lay claim to being a true Melburnian if you haven’t been in for late-night Negronis and the fuzzy memory to go with them the next day. Legend status is warranted for Andrew McConnell being the first chef in Melbourne to think of serving a tin of Ortiz anchovies. It comes with the tuna tartare with goats’ curd and crushed peas that has spawned a thousand imitators. It trails in the wake of the show-stopper slow-roasted lamb shoulder, the recipe for which A-Mac has shared in print but which somehow never tastes as good not in situ. And as for the rum baba where the whole bottle is handed over to glug onto the sponge cake at will? You guessed it. Legend.
Cumulus Inc just notche

Five years down the track, Le Bon Ton is no longer one of the scant few declaring smoked meats, late nights and liquor their thing, so how do they fare in 2019? Not much has changed - exposed brick, copper accents, dripping candles, feature bar and an opulent New Orleans design brief are all still in place – but they’ve settled into their Collingwood home and now make vegans feel as welcome as omnivores with a menu spanning the southern belt of America.
Jeremy and Christopher Sutphin are still in charge of the food, with Jeremy keeping an eye on the smoke and Christopher manning the pans. A quick word of warning, for those of you still looking to gorge on oysters, fried chicken and peanut butter pies in the wee hours of the morning, their late-night menu is only available on Friday and Saturday nights; throughout the week, the kitchen closes at a reasonable 10pm. You’ll also notice a key across their menu, pointing out dishes that can be made gluten-free, vegetarian or vegan: the kitchen is more flexible and you and yours will also receive your feast a lot faster. Wins all around.
The carte is huge. You’ve got oysters, chilli cheese fries, Texas caviar, fried chicken with gravy, tacos, cheeseburgers, a Carolina crab boil and salads, and we haven’t even mentioned the barbecue. This is not a place for first dates, but somewhere you bring bulk appetites so you can order large and leave your table manners at the door.
The service here is tight and much more polished than you

When a 20-seater restaurant in the heart of suburbia that only offers three dishes, with no bookings, no website and no advertising is never with an empty seat, you know it has to be good. Mr Lee’s Foods is well worth the trip to Ringwood if you’re a fan of pork; all dishes are derived from this glorious animal, offering a delicious insight into the economical traditions of Korean dining, utilising an unconscious, innately cultural nose-to-tail philosophy. Needless to say, this is a vegetarian no-go zone.
A house-made soondae (Korean blood sausage), steamed pork belly and dwaeji guk bap (pork soup with rice) are the only things on offer at Mr Lee’s. Soondae, for the uninitiated, is nothing like the European versions of dense, sweetly spiced and irony black pudding. Soondae may be a sausage made using the blood of the pig, but that is where the similarities end. The version served at Mr Lee’s is a South Korean variety where glass noodles act as the binding agent (unlike flour, rice or oats in Europe) for the garlic and ginger-spiked blood, steamed in its natural pig intestine casing. The result is a swollen, glossy, mild-flavoured, bouncy sausage that arrives sliced, alongside steamed slivers of liver and fatty intestine ready to be dipped in a roasted sesame salt or an umami bomb of salted, fermented baby shrimp.
For the less adventurous, fatty cuts of pork belly come simply steamed, still attached to its joyously gelatinous and fatty cap of skin. Dip these slices in the ac

The secret is out. This once low-key Korean restaurant overrun by displaced students wanting a taste of home is now being infiltrated by locals. Blame the internet. Blame Instagram. Blame Facebook. They’ve hit social media pretty aggressively and now everyone is lining up for all the banchan (side dishes) you can handle.
Hansang means ‘table full of food’ in Korean, and that’s exactly what you get. Typically, when you sit down to a Korean meal, you’re met with a handful of side dishes; usually pickles (most likely a kimchi), a salad, an ambient temperature stir-fry and a protein, but at Hansang, they fill your table. There were eleven plates at our count featuring a rice porridge spiced with black pepper, stir fried shredded potato, a rolled vegetable omelette, a cucumber and seaweed salad, japchae, kimchi cabbage, stir fried bean sprouts, spicy fish cakes, braised eggplant, kimchi radish and braised tofu. You might call it a gimmick if each plate wasn’t properly cooked and seasoned, adding to the experience of the ‘main’ dishes rather than distracting from them; all killer and absolutely no filler.
You’d be mad if you didn’t order from the set menu, where two people dine for $60, three for $90, four for $120, and so on. Each person chooses a shared main for the table and aside from the abundance of well-considered and interesting sides, you each receive a bowl of rice, a choice between a kimchi or soybean stew, and dessert. If you can’t finish your food, they encourage yo

Places serving northern Indian cuisine are ubiquitous in Melbourne, so a nondescript restaurant on the less populated part of Commercial Road is unlikely to draw any attention. But that’s the point of a home-cooking gem; it’s what’s on the inside that counts, and inside the Spice Pantry they’re serving a kaleidoscopic array of steaming, vegetable-laden curries out of their compact kitchen.
The Spice Pantry is family-run. Father and son duo Anand and Anuj Tandon are at the helm: Anand is a veteran chef and Anuj, who left accounting to pursue his passion for food, is in charge of the hosting duties. There’s only a handful of tables, but we strongly recommend you eat in – Anuj’s warmth, humour and hospitality are as much a draw card as the food.
Bread is king in north India – the arid climate makes it difficult to grow rice – and they’ve got all sorts here. The charcoal tandoor pumps out naan that’s fluffy and buttery soft thanks to the addition of eggs: with cheese and chilli it’s the Indian version of a toastie and the garlic is perfect for mopping up the mellower curries. Flaky wholemeal parathas come plain or stuffed with potato; and fermented-dough kulcha is warmly spiced with a filling of masala-laced onion, potato and paneer. Gluten dodgers, don’t despair: rice pillafs are plentiful.
True to north Indian cuisine, the menu champions vegetable and vegan curries that sit on the spectrum from mild to so-hot-you-may-hallucinate. Cosy up with the comforting navrattan korma:

Why is it that Melbourne’s sushi train restaurants are characterised by either run-off-the-mill food or uninspired locales (read: shopping centres)? Brace yourselves Japanophiles: Ganbare Kaz on the Windsor end of Chapel Street is set to become your new destination for creative, top-shelf sushi, with low prices and a fitout that will impress the fussiest of hipsters.
No matter where you plonk down along the large bar that curves around the sushi train, you’ll have a good view of the chefs flexing their impressive knife skills. Pricing is based on the failsafe colour-coded plate system: $3.50 for white, $4.50 for black, $5.50 for blue and $6.50 for beige. An iPad at each table is used to order drinks and hot food (think izakaya mainstays like gyoza and octopus takoyaki), or a particular kind of sushi that hasn’t yet docked at your station.
The plates are your first clue that these guys are detail-orientated. Instead of cheap plastic, here they use polished, hand-painted ceramic versions to hold your makis, nigiris, aburi and gunkans. They also embrace the garnish, with each piece decorated with herbs, flowers or a smattering of seeds to add colour, flavour or texture.
With so many plates whizzing past, how does one choose? Be led by your stomach – it’s all pretty good. An inside-out roll with juicy fried chicken and avocado is luxed up by kewpie mayo, with puffed rice adding extra crunch. A nigiri of glossy white ika (squid) is nicely firm but smooth tasting and doesn’t ne

Having run popular student destination Nasi Lemak House in Carlton since 2008, Merah’s owners Aline Viravouth and Marcel Nantharath are no strangers to the famous Malaysian dish of coconut rice. It’s fitting that the name of their new upmarket Northcote venue, Merah, means red in Malay because red is all we see after sampling the Kerabu sambal in their superior nasi lemak. It’s a fiery injection for the fluffy rice and hard boiled egg, an infusion of shrimp, lime leaf and copious amounts of chilli served alongside fried peanuts and salty slivers of crunchy anchovies. Here you get no flourishes of beef rendang or fried chicken – simplicity is the name of the game.
Fried chicken is the restaurant’s best seller. Milder on the heat factor than Mamak’s famed ‘ayam berempah’ (spiced fried chicken), the meat in Merah’s iteration is dusted in potato flour and then deep fried, served with a squeeze of lime over the drumsticks and wings and gifted a creamy piquancy care of mayo-spiked with sweet and sour Kelantan sambol.
Two dishes are the barometer of any good Malaysian restaurant – beef rendang and kangkung belachan (water spinach stir-fried with shrimp chilli paste). At Merah the beef might not be fall-apart tender, but the mild coconut curry sauce is creamy with ground, toasted coconut and fragrant with pounded lemongrass and spices. The kangkung belacan has the certified stamp of approval known as ‘wok hei’ (otherwise known as wok breath) from being stir-fried over a large wok,

The city's still hot, the inner north is booming, but the west’s got our vote. In a year in which good dining options have spread their tentacles even further across Melbourne suburbia, West Footscray – WeFo to its friends – gets the gong as the ’burb with the casual diner to rule them all.
Chef duo of Josh Murphy and Rory Cowcher, alumni of the Andrew McConnell Selective School for Over-Achieving Chefs, keeps many balls in the air. Their capable stewardship has turned Harley and Rose into the perfect neighbourhood spot (meaning: a kids’ menu and no sneering at families) while also appealing to wearers of new-school tattoos and the slow creep of corporate types turning up the gentrification dial.
It’s good to see a whole lot of natural wine get a run on a list that can only be described as perky. It’s just as good to see a Ribena Quencher on the cocktail list. It’s pretty brilliant to hear Daryl Braithwaite and Noiseworks piped into a room that would have taken out Low-key Fitout of the Year if we had such an award. And snackage is strong, from mortadella with mustard fruits to panzanella salad and charry octopus.
Fluffy fingers of oven-hot focaccia arrive with a whipped cod roe that practically levitates. Lamb meatballs get their Greek on with yoghurt and risoni. Everyone’s happy. And come summer there’s going to be no better place to hang than the streetside picnic tables with a bubbling wood- oven pizza and Furphy Ale.

The Rochester Hotel kitchen shifted gears mid 2018, rewriting its standard pub menu to one focused on Southern Indian flavours, with chef Mischa Tropp drawing inspo from his mother’s homeland. Now your pub dinner comes with restaurant-style service where waitstaff know Kerala from Kashmir, and swiftly wipe away evidence of the city’s flakiest parota (layered flatbread) and crisp chilli-laced poppadums.
Those chasing a serious curry kick should order the chef’s favourite – a fiery fish curry made with the daily catch from the markets. There’s also a hot-but-not-too-spicy slow-cooked beef neck in ginger and garlic. It’s rich, oily and deceivingly filling and will have you mining the bowl for any remainders. The half-chook Kashmiri curry is a milder alternative, with hunks of chicken swimming in a bowl of smooth chilli sauce, tanged with tamarind and sweetened with caramelised onion. What it lacks in Insta aesthetics it makes up in flavour. If you’ve overestimated your spice tolerance, you can as a side of silky housemade curd (imagine a runny, natural yoghurt) that lets you drizzle a sour slave over the top of all those strong flavours.
What’s a pub menu without sliders? Here they’re made with a sweet bread traditional to Goa and filled with chorizo, prawns or chilli potato. Vegetarians don’t miss out, with soft strips of cabbage flavoured with coconut and translucent curry leaves; and green papaya with chilli gravy. Don’t know where to start? There’s a $55 ‘shut up and feed

Tantuni involves sautéing finely chopped meat (traditionally beef) in a large shallow metal pan, and then rolling it up tightly in a flatbread with veggies and herbs. At Anatolia Tantuni, owner Burhan Kurucu makes his tantuni with beef or chicken (or a mix) that has been animated with red pepper flakes, smoky paprika and oregano. He wraps it up with diced tomato, sumac-coated red onion and parsley, which cut through the oily redness of the spiced meat, adding acidity, tangy bite and herby freshness. It’s the antidote to every disappointing kebab you’ve ever had, and it also comes as sandwich on Turkish bread, or deconstructed on a plate.
Burhan and his wife Birten opened Anatolia Tantuni in April, after arriving in Melbourne from Ankara mid-last year. The Kurucus saw a gap in the market for Turkey’s popular street food and struck while the pan was hot. Burhan is at the helm, singlehandedly frying, stuffing and wrapping kebabs – and welcoming customers with minimal English and maximum hospitality. Birten is behind the scenes, making gözleme filled with spinach and feta, or a vegan version with mushroom, capsicum and onion. Her börek are bursting with juicy minced beef or salty, lemony spinach offset by crumbly, buttery filo pastry. Don’t leave without trying the desserts – the cheesy künefe or sütlaç, a moreish milky rice pudding laced with nutmeg and orange zest.
Stretch your stomach capacity so that you don’t miss out on the Instagram-worthy beyti kebab – parcels of pita-w

If you haven’t been to an Ippudo before, it’s a global ramen chain that specialises in hakata-style tonkotsu ramen in a line-up, slurp-up, get-out format that is synonymous with the style of eating among salarymen in Japan. You can’t make bookings, and all parties from your group are required to be present before you are seated. All dishes reach your table in the order the kitchen prepares them (don’t try coursing your meal), and you’re not encouraged to linger, ever. It’s not actually as impersonal as it sounds. The venues are designed to remind you of tiny ramen shops that you squeeze in and out of for a perfect meal in under 15 minutes. It’s the ideal place to go to on a tight lunch break.
To meet the demands of a Melbourne market, the QV Ippudo is larger than other ones we have seen, with an array of communal tables for single diners, and a row of banquettes for larger groups. The kitchen is visible behind bench-to-ceiling glass. Here you get to witness the mesmerising spectacle of chefs building each bowl of ramen from noodle cooking through to tare (the stock's seasoning), stock pouring and adornment.
And how does the ramen fare? The broth seems like it’s had the volume turned down for the Melbourne demographic. It has the obligatory milkiness and umami from cooking down pork bones for many hours with the same collagen-slickness you get in your mouth from a true tonkotsu, but the porkiness (and the lard) has been toned down. This isn’t a bad thing, as you can head ba

On a Carlton corner, Ima Project Café is breathing new life into smashed avo. Furikake (a mixture of sesame seeds, chopped seaweed, salt and sugar) and nori paste (processed seaweed boiled down with soy sauce) are usually sprinkled on rice, but Ima slathers crunchy sourdough with the nori paste and then sprinkles the furikake on top of avocado. The result is a salty and savoury breakfast dish unlike any iteration of the creamy toast topper you’ll find in Melbourne.
Japanese twists on archetypal breakfast dishes can also be found in Ima’s miso-infused tomato baked eggs and the porridge drizzled with Mitarashi syrup, a traditional Japanese sauce made from soy sauce and sugar. Plus, the classic Japanese breakfast set of fish and rice is on the menu. But Ima isn’t just reinventing Melbourne breakfast. Lunchtime options kick-start at 11am, meaning you can get curry rice or a katsu burger before noon.
An ebi katsu (crumbed prawn) burger stars on the specials board. Sandwiched between sweet and crumbly brioche buns courtesy of Cobb Lane are large breaded prawns laced with a velvety taru taru sauce, a Japanese-style tartare that has more heft than its western equivalent due to the inclusion of hard boiled eggs. You won’t need serviettes to dry off your oil-slicked fingers with this deceptively light burger – the prawns are light and crisp. Adhering to Ima’s no-waste policy, the burger is served alongside deep-fried prawn heads that you can eat whole – the shell is rendered so crun

Made from shrimp paste and chilli, sambal is a condiment popular in Malaysia and Indonesia. It’s also one of the key ingredients in Hustle Fitzroy’s scrambled eggs with housemade roti, fried shallots and coriander – a breakfast dish with enough fire to have you reaching for water.
Hustle Fitzroy is clearly not your average Western breakfast spot. Head chef and co-owner Sashika Dilhan is taking inspiration from across Asia, making a morning pudding out of sago, coconut and jaggery (cane sugar). The French Lanka toast makes no bones about which two influences it’s trying to meld, with the cardamom and clove-spiced brioche finding a natural counterpart in coconut custard and treacle.
When it comes to those eggs, there’s a catch: they’re on the regularly rotating list of specials. But you can get the okonomiyaki on every visit. Iterations of the Japanese pancake are a dime a dozen in Melbourne cafés – North Fitzroy stalwart Carolina does a fritter-style version, while Papirica on Smith Street serves up the real deal – but Hustle’s version is an ornate and meticulously plated one that deserves a mention. Pleasant pink hues of beetroot-cured salmon complement brilliant red cabbage and a sour note from vinegary wakame seaweed (it cuts right through the kewpie mayo). But the clincher is the squid ink-marinated pearls of sago, which burst with an earthy brininess.
Dried anchovies, or ikan bilis as they’re known in Southeast Asia, elevate an otherwise standard coconut chicken salad

In 1839, politician Joseph Docker purchased 50 acres of land in Richmond for £975. Nearly 200 years later his memory is kept alive by Nicholas Gaoutsos, owner of Fifty Acres, a café situated on part of Docker’s former land on Bridge Road. Gaoutsos has conjured an image of bucolic countryside life thanks to a mint green wall, a wood panelled roof and rustic chairs. The rest though – bricks, slate, geometric lights – is very Melbourne. Let’s meet in the middle and call it pastoral chic.
They nail the Melbourne brunch brief here: couples read newspapers while snacking on smashed avo sprinkled with dukka on dark rye; groups of shoppers coo over citrus-cured salmon with asparagus and savoury granola; and footy-loving families fill the comfy booth for serves of vanilla bean porridge, breakfast burritos and free-range goat’s cheese omelettes.
And in case you were wondering, they have an Instagram famous dish too. Pumpkin pancakes arrive as fat discs that are fluffy and creamy in equal measure, with a bright tang from orange segments, crunch from candied walnuts and richness from the citrus mascarpone. Although it’s doused in Canadian maple syrup, the pumpkin in the batter ensures it’s not sickly sweet. Next time we’ll skip the bacon (needs extra crisping) and treat this purely as dessert for breakfast.
On the other hand it doesn’t get more savoury than the Scotch eggs: soft-boiled eggs enveloped in chorizo, panko-crumbed and deep-fried, served on bale of spinach with oodles of p

A light year measures approximately 9.5 trillion kilometres, which is no small trot. Happily, you only have to set the GPS to Hawthorn to enjoy the delights of Light Years café. The owners of Windsor’s Journeyman café opened Light Years in August 2017, and head chef Simon Ward (formerly of the now-closed Hammer & Tong) is kicking serious goals. The breakfast and lunch menu – eggs scrambled or benedict, bircher muesli, burgers or fish and chips – may sound standard; its execution is anything but. Ward’s love of Asian food is evident, and ingredients such as edamame, sriracha, miso and nori are put to tasteful use.
His version of scrambled eggs and toast is a treat. Creamy eggs are topped with a mop of wakame (seaweed), tiny clusters of sweet corn and torn nori sheets. Roasted mushrooms encircle the plate and a trio of ‘milk bread sticks’ are placed atop. These rectangular sticks of fried bread are wonderfully buttery – the only downside is that there are just three.
It’s a dangerous time to be a soft-shell crab in Melbourne, and Light Years’ excellent soft-shell crab burger isn’t doing anything to increase these creatures’ life expectancy. A warm and springy brioche bun is spread with peppy sriracha mayonnaise. There’s thinly shredded cabbage ’slaw, plenty of fresh coriander and a whole fried crab (pincers poking out of the bun in surrender). It’s all at once crunchy, creamy and light. Sago chips accompany the burger. Slim, crisp and dusted with green nori salt, they’re li

Melbourne’s southeastern suburb of Oakleigh is synonymous with Greek culture and community, which makes the Greek Bakery’s nondescript moniker all the more curious on a strip where Greek bakeries are a dime a dozen. Visitors to Oakleigh may be more familiar with Nikos Oakleigh Quality Cakes, the Greek equivalent of Brunetti’s in scale and variety – but walk a little further down Portman Street away from the hubbub and you’ll chance upon the unassuming and more traditional Greek Bakery.
Despina Genimaki established the bakery in late 2015, having uprooted her life and moved from Greece to Australia five years earlier. Multigenerational families order loaves of horiatiko (which translates into Greek traditional bread from the village) and lagana (Greek flatbread), while carting the wares of Oakleigh’s infamous Rotary Sunday Market.
Spanakopita, where diced feta, spinach and onion are sandwiched between crispy and flaky filo pastry, prove to be the order of the day – so much so the Greek Bakery has almost run out of them by the time we visit. Display windows of Greek baked goods jostle for space with broader European-inspired fare such as petit fours and sablé Breton – a thick and buttery French shortbread cookie with strawberry or apricot filling. And of course, there’s no forgetting Greece’s famous syrup-drenched baklava.
With scant space to stand, let alone sit, we get our mishmash of pastries to go and enjoy them in a nearby park. That bestselling spanakopita justifies

It’s no secret that Andy Gale has left Spotswood. He sold up the offal-centric, Oxford comma-lovin’ cafe Duchess of Spotswood and swapped his pans for the grill at his amazing burger bar Meet Patty. But there’s only so long a chef of Gale’s pedigree can go on flipping burgers (as delicious as they are) without getting bored. So when the opportunity came up to buy Fitzroy’s Backstreet Eating, he snapped it up, partnered with fellow Brit Mark Richardson (ex-St Ali) and opened another all-day eatery paying tribute to the monarchy.
Gale met Richardson during his time as executive chef at St Ali, and there he learned that you have to give people what they want. Sure, he’s known for amazing pork jowl croquettes and tender slabs of braised tongue accompanying oozy, sunny-side up eggs, but he’s pulled back the offal on Duke of Kerr’s breakfast menu (we are glad to report he’s still turning out his black pudding). He’s also swapped out his Oxford commas for puns to produce dish names like “pretty fly for a white rye” and “chia up Charlie”, because no one likes a grammar Nazi. He’s now also vegan, vegetarian and gluten-free friendly, without venturing into the dangerous, gimmicky category. The food coming from the kitchen is classic Gale: deceptively simple, expertly cooked, seasonal and just damn delicious.
Take advantage of the autumn produce and order the magic mushrooms. It’s a meaty tousle of sauteed wild mushrooms scattered over a perfect golden puck of a hashbrown that has bee

This Bentleigh café pays homage to the corner stores of yore and sits, appropriately enough, on a street corner. Good Times Milk Bar owners Brett Louis and Brent Scales have given the site a serious refurb, transforming a moribund shop into a perky café. A school holidays weekday sees a good mix of clientele: little kids tuck into burgers and golden potato gems while pensioners swap gossip at gloriously high volume.
The interior has personality in spades, with its powder-pink-and-blue colour scheme and art prints of ice creams and sausage dogs. Out back there’s a courtyard equipped with big cushions where persons with pooches can brunch in companionable comfort.
The menu has café standards with unusual flourishes – bircher muesli comes with strawberry granita, while those spectacular hotcakes with berry compôte, meringue crumb, ice cream and a spiced maple syrup are waggishly topped with popping candy.
Roasted cauliflower salad is a generous bundle of nutty roasted florets dusted with caraway seed, with brown lentils and quinoa for oomph. Coriander leaves pep it up, and there’s a thick, creamy yoghurt sauce you can swirl your florets through. Lunch on this and you’ll feel both satisfied and virtuous.
If scrambled eggs have ever struck you as pedestrian, try GTMB’s: chopped green and red chillies bring Eastern zing and a tingly powder of Szechuan pepper cuts through the eggy creaminess. And would you like crab with that? For $8, you can upgrade your meal with sweet flake

Vibrant, multicultural Footscray – which already boasts some of the best Vietnamese and Ethiopian restaurants in the city, plus an unrivalled burger joint – has stepped up its food and drink game big time. In 2017-18, we got a pizza joint spearheaded by two Andrew McConnell alumni, a slick bar pouring craft beers and wine, and a café that goes beyond the usual brunch suspects.
Diego Portilla Carreño (ex-Lake House and Annie Smithers Bistrot) and his wife, Bec Howell, opened Small Graces in late 2017. Carreño’s fine-dining pedigree is front and centre in the inventive, wholesome brunch dishes made using ingredients ethically sourced from Victorian farmers. The café has an intimate community vibe that’s so symbolic of the west: think vintage furniture, an inviting cushion-laden banquette, lots of greenery, a stack of books to entertain wriggly kids, and an outdoor area big enough for your pets.
The menu is constructed around what’s in season, and everything on it – down to the sriracha, peanut butter, and ferments and pickles – is housemade. Part of the café’s strong focus on sustainability means dishes are veg-heavy and where meat is used, less popular cuts are favoured (bacon is replaced by pork neck in the Eggs Benedict-ish, for instance). Most dishes are (or can be made) gluten free, but if you’re partial to carbs, you’re in luck – their bread supplier is the excellent Sourdough Kitchen in nearby Seddon.
Egg options include the signature Eggs and Greens, with offcuts of

Don’t expect to see smashed avo, bacon and eggs or chia puddings on the menu at Tootsie Roller. They’re mashing up Melbourne’s love for brunch and paying homage to the city’s large South Asian diaspora with a vegetarian cafe bucking breakfast trends, one dosa taco at a time.
Just like the Mexican cafe El Chino which used to occupy this space, this Northside addition is forgoing standard brunch dishes in favour of new and exciting flavour combinations – exchanging Latin American-inspired breakfast burritos, nachos and totopos for an array of Indian-influenced food speckled with chilli, coriander and cumin. The crew are different but the dedication to dishes that subvert the traditional eggs-and-bacon fare rolls on.
But don’t go expecting Indian cultural motifs all over the walls. There are freshly painted pink walls and simple timber furniture that gives way to a higgledy-piggledy courtyard out the back, which manages to stay cool even on a 40-degree day thanks to the towering trees overhead. Unlike other cafes where you’re timed to within a second of your final coffee, Tootsie Roller is languid and unhurried – people stay for as long as they like and solo diners are not out of place.
One El Chino dish that has been reincarnated on Tootsie Roller’s menu are the breakfast tacos, although they are not the same rendition. Dosa, an Indian-type pancake made from fermented rice and lentil batter, is the base of Tootsie Roller’s breakfast tacos in place of the usual soft corn t

Let’s be frank – culturally speaking, the suburb of Cheltenham is probably more evocative of Westfield Shopping centres than hip cafés. But Frank’s, which opened at the tail end of 2016, is doing its darndest to change all that.
The fact that something good is going on in an otherwise quiet residential street is evidenced by the fact that you can hear Frank’s cheery hubbub from way across the road. You see ladies lunching on salads, couples tearing into hefty burgers and mums with young bubs mainlining much-needed All Press coffee. Busy as it is, Frank’s isn’t cramped or overwhelming: its interior is spacious and bright, with plenty of natural light from the street-facing windows.
There’s a small open kitchen wherein head chef Eli Faye cooks up familiar brunch and lunch dishes – eggs numerous ways, apple bircher muesli and avocado smash. But there’s also a strong Asian influence going on, exemplified by the pork belly bao and chicken banh mi. Those pork belly baos (white fluffy buns) are another solid pick. Three sliders, huddled on the edge of a black plate, contain pork belly (skin crisp and meat nicely seasoned) and a tangle of finely-shaved cabbage ’slaw dressed with chilli kewpie mayonnaise. Coriander sprigs and Vietnamese mint bring peppery freshness, while a side of kimchi adds extra-hot va va voom.
Sweet fangs are well catered for with housemade pastries and cakes. This is a menu that classifies doughnuts and panna cotta as breakfast foods. And why not?
Our food

We’ve waited a long time for this in Melbourne. The new generation of restaurateurs is rising. They’re the experienced, fiercely educated alums of the juggernauts of the previous era. Andrew Joy (who worked under Andrew McConnell: Cumulus Inc, Cutler and Co, Marion) and Travis Howe (who worked under Mykal and Kate Bartholomew: Coda, Tonka) have taken over the flailing Carlton Wine Room and enlisted McConnell’s longtime right-hand man, John-Paul Twomey, to head the kitchen. Essentially, they’re the dream team.
After a quick refurb, the venue feels dusted off, opened up and less stuffy. They’ve made use of the abundant natural light and licensed footpath, which shakes off the austerity of the past. A lick of white paint and classic Thonet furniture, and they’re laughing. It seems the neighbourhood has taken to the facelift, as the venue is packed every single night, inside and out, rain, hail or shine since it opened. The good news is it takes bookings.
It’s important to note the beverage offerings; this is first and foremost a wine room. When you’re seated, the crew hands you a one-pager of aperitif and cocktails before you even see the food menu. This is an old-school dining sensibility that has been lost in the casual dining culture of today. Needless to say, we are glad to welcome it back. One does have to whet one’s appetite, after all.
The full wine list contains 100 bottles. This isn’t particularly large, but this is one of the most approachable, decipherable and bala

Ishizuka is a new Japanese restaurant specialising in a kaiseki menu. It’s also a rabbit hole, both quasi-literally (the ordeal of finding it through a nondescript door, along an arcade, down a level via a keypad and elevator and through another nondescript door, can feel a little daunting, which is probably the point) and figuratively, thanks to chef Tomotaka Ishizuka performing the food equivalent of needlepoint.
It’s certainly no wham-bam izakaya. No rousing chorus of “irrashaimase!” greets each diner as they enter, slightly discombobulated after the elevator and keypad ordeal. In a commitment-phobic world it almost requires a session with a therapist to sign up for a 10-plus-course, two-plus-hour procession of miniaturised dishes for $220 a head, sans drinks. But Ishizuka is worth the time, expense, and trouble of finding it.
The room lurking underneath Bourke Street is haunting in its sparseness. Concrete columns are roughly textured to resemble tree trunks. Fake foliage hangs overhead. A hot air balloon-sized, white fabric lantern sections off a bar area like a beautiful hallucination. Chef Ishizuka, who perfected his craft in Kyoto (home of the kaiseki), and most recently headed up Crown’s Japanese glamourpuss Koko, maintains a gentle quiet in his kitchen. His attitude is mirrored by the small team of white-jacketed Japanese waiters who discuss the differing properties of saké with sincerity bordering on reverence.
The comparisons with Minamishima are flying around

Little Bourke Street, just south of Elizabeth, sure ain't what it used to be. Once the home of camping outlets and tourists fleeing the Hardware Lane touts, it's turned into a mini-rival to Flinders Lane (home of Chin Chin, Cumulus Inc and Supernormal) thanks to the arrival of Kirk's Wine Bar, French Saloon and Tipo 00. Wander past Tipo 00, the strip's most hotly contested piece of real estate, at the unfashionable hour of 5.30pm on a Friday and you'll overhear those who've missed out on a table forlornly working out plan B. Don't despair, good people: your backup plan is now just a shopfront away.
It's round two for Luke Skidmore and Andreas Papadakis, the duo who reaffirmed Melbourne's love for all things Italian and carby when they opened Tipo 00 three years ago. The space formerly known as Scandi Bar Du Nord has been revitalised with the same architectural eye. A patina of age has been added to a layer-cake of Italianisms, from the distressed faux-tiled floor to the bashed-about charms of whitewashed brickwork. It's a mullet of a room – high-tabled party at the front, booths at the back. A long bar, home of Negroni-pushing bartenders, unifies the room before segueing into an open kitchen where Papadakis is dusting off those chef tricks of his that lay dormant in the Tipo era.
What we have here is not so humble as an osteria. Sure, it has an underlying rustic Italian brief, exemplified by the chargrilled whole octopus brutishly splayed over a sauce made of the fiery Cala

Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four freaking hours, seven days a week, is how long Con Christopoulos is keeping his new CBD venture open for. It’s a compelling reason to grab dinner late or have a steak for breakfast. Please welcome Butchers Diner to the growing ranks of venues keeping the Melbourne CBD up all night.
Simon Poole, who has been a longstanding meat-obsessed member of the European Group, breaking down the animals and churning out all things cured and aged for venues such as the City Wine Shop, the European, Kirk’s and French Saloon, is now heading up Butchers Diner.
While the menu is meat-centric, it is not as carnivorous as it may first appear. You’ll clap eyes on a cabinet taking up the entire back wall filled with hanging meats when you walk in. Sadly, it’s stock for all the other restaurants, but the offering in the diner is compelling in its own right. There is a definite European lean on the menu, but there are touches of Japan, America and China. Burgers starting from $9.50, made up of cuts of the day sit alongside lightly battered, sesame-spiked Japanese fried chicken ($12) comprised of marinated dark meat, Kewpie mayo and piquant pickled daikon. There are skewers of offal ($7.50 for 2) cooked over Japanese white charcoal and come unapologetically chewy, bouncy or irony (and depending on the cut, served medium); and you can get a soft, spiced house-made blood sausage and curried egg bap ($10). Plus there’s the daily one-plate special that could be anything

It wasn’t long ago that Melbourne was considered the runt of the litter with our limited choices in Thai restaurants. But we’re catching up, with Dodee Paidang joining the authentic ranks of Jinda, Tom Toon Thai Noodle and Soi 38.
Dodee Paidang is a Sydney import from Somporn Phosri – the fourth store of the family. After winning the hearts and tongues of Thai locals in Sydney, he thought it was time to conquer Melbourne. Hidden in the basement of Hotel Causeway, off Little Collins Street, you’ll find the colourful, low-fi and community-driven 150-seater packed to the brim with Thai natives. Thai is the first language spoken here by guests and staff, but service in English is no less friendly or accommodating. Just be sure to project when ordering, as the ‘90s song-stylings of Celine, Mariah or the Backstreet Boys will be blaring over the speakers. Some nights Thai cover bands will be singing their favourite hits. We hope you like Coldplay.
The main event is the signature tom yum noodle, coming in a clean, sweetly porky, hot-and-sour broth hit with generous spoonfuls of fried garlic and topped with crispy wonton strips. Each comes with toppings ranging from seafood to soft pork bone and can be customised with a choice between seven types of noodles, such as glass, rice, instant and supersized, for those with an appetite. Caddies with chillies in fish sauce, chilli powder, vinegar and straight-up sugar are on every table to adjust each bowl to truly make it your own. Competi

Exciting things are happening in Melbourne car parks at the moment. The best of which includes Con Christopoulos converting the carport under Spring Street Grocer into a delicious cheese cave.
Descending the tight spiral staircase is like sinking into a pit of wet socks – but don't let that detract you. It's an Art Deco wonderland of white and emerald tiles where you can eat lactose-laden lunches and do workshops. Behind a set of glass doors, you’ll find cheesemonger Anthony Femia playing classical music to truffled brie and tending tractor tyre-sized wheels of Comté from 8am to 9pm. Yep, throw your hands up for a place that's open when you're actually free to shop.
Plan your visit when you’re homeward bound (if you’re packing a wedge of the soft, washed rind Livarot in your handbag, you are armed and disgusting). We can’t go past European gems like the soft vacherin that comes in a pot ready to be baked into a molten dip, or the L’Etivas – a hard gruyere, gritty with sweet, crunchy calcium crystals. We also love that you can get a tangy wedge of Bruny Island C2, Australia’s only raw milk cheese. If you get out with less than $50 worth of dairy and tiny pears from upstairs, you’ve a stronger will than we do.

Last time Time Out checked in on Attica it was 2012 and things were somewhat different. Ben Shewry and his wife Natalia weren’t yet sole owners, for one. The Iva Foschia makeover to celebrate their exclusive possession of the keys hadn’t yet blackened the timber walls and conjured a dining room worthy of Shewry’s sublime cooking. Perhaps most pertinently – at least for the Shewry family accountant and the busy individual who takes the bookings - it hadn’t climbed to numero uno in Australia on the World’s Best Restaurants list.
Vive la difference. These days Shewry's captain of his own ship. The restaurant has undergone a sexy yet understated makeover that finally banished the ghosts of bank buildings past. Rippon Lea Estate kindly provides space for sprawling kitchen gardens exclusively for the suburb’s favourite son.
Like Neil Finn, Shewry is one of those Kiwis we like to claim as our own (nb: they can keep Russell Crowe) but you can tell by his cooking that he’s got the maverick eye of the outsider. Attica 2.0 gives a cheeky spin on Aussie-isms that a homegrown chef might overlook. There’s a play on smashed avo on toast, a canapé built for the Millennial debate, value-added with fingerlime and juvenile Ripponlea herbs. There’s a mini saltbush lamb pie in a Vegemite-addled crust making a delicious gentle dig. Even the bread goes native: sour damper, made with fermented native grains and served with butter and macadamia cream.
You’d imagine being a World’s Best Restaurants

In India, Babu Ji is a term you’d use for an older male, say your dad or grandfather, and since opening on St Kilda’s Grey Street in 2014, the original Babu Ji has earned the respectful title. The original owner Jessi Singh packed his bags, along with the Babu Ji concept and took it to New York and Southern California. But that whole time the St Kilda outpost, alongside sister restaurant Horn Please, continued to tick along, serving their modern take on Indian cuisine.
Smart money is on the $49 set menu. It lets you choose two entree dishes and two curry dishes along with rice and a basket of naan bread. You’ll also get a basket of fresh papadums with a minty dip, a sweet and sour tamarind sauce and mango chutney. Dinner sorted.
Another mark in its favour is the inclusive menu, so bring your vego and pescatarian mates. ‘Double Trouble’ is a non-traditional take on aloo tikki (potato croquettes). The pair of croquettes (one crab, one beetroot) is served with a sweet apple and gooseberry chutney. Following staff recommendation, we tried both croquettes together in the one bite – the earthiness of the beetroot and the peppery crab croquette find balance with the sweetness of tamarind. It’s not often we ask for smaller serves, but in this case, smaller croquettes would’ve meant more of the crisp golden exterior.
Tandoori chicken is juicy, but more time in the oven is needed for char and smokiness. Better results are found in the vindaloo, which was closer to the traditional G

Let’s start with the pasta. This is a pasta bar, after all, although that seems to sell Tipo 00 short. Pappardelle, thick ribbons boasting the suppleness of Nadia Comaneci and the right resistance to the teeth, is jumbled up with rabbit braised in white wine, with the toasty crunch of hazelnuts and green specks of marjoram. This is happiness in a bowl. Carb-dodgers be damned.
Melbourne’s a town that does pasta either really well or terribly badly. Tipo 00 is a stand-out member of the first category and just as well for them – naming your joint after the high-protein flour the Italians use for making pasta has got to raise expectations somewhere near sky-high. And maybe it’s the result of being on a GI-high, but for anyone who loves not only pasta, but the whole Italian kit and caboodle, this is a darned exciting proposition.
It’s a compact spot tucked away on Little Bourke Street and blessed with classic mid-century looks, including a lovely white marble bar with a stage-lit section where the pasta is made (performance art alert!) and a concrete floor cleverly painted in faux-tiles. A honky-tonk version of Moloko’s 'Bring It Back' plays on the stereo while the young staff – led by co-owner Luke Skidmore – schmooze their elegant way through a small but sexy wine list with its heart in Italy and a flirtation with the orange side.
It’s hard not to leap from the bentwood stool and grab a plate of fat, textbook tortellini heading to another table, but the Moreton Bay bug risott

Fans of Ottolenghi would do well to take note – in his cookbook Jerusalem, the renowned chef hailed the mastermind behind global Israeli pita empire Miznon, Eyal Shani, as “the voice of modern Israeli cuisine”. And that voice is now getting global reach – Melbourne’s Hardware Lane outpost has become Shani’s sixth Miznon, soon to be joined by a seventh in New York.
Nothing about Miznon is orthodox. It’s a double-storied restaurant, but the action unspools downstairs where diners order at the counter and wait for their names to be called. Nearly ten young, energetic waitstaff – so many for a relatively small eatery – zip in and out of the exposed kitchen, shouting in Hebrew to one another and animatedly dispensing advice on what to order. The backing soundtrack is that of tambourines spontaneously played by waitstaff and the loud pounding of minute steaks being flattened with a meat tenderiser. One staff member urges us to perch ourselves on high stools overlooking the kitchen, where he then proceeds to offer us shots, and then the whole restaurant – waitstaff and diners alike – erupt in a toast to ‘cauliflower night’.
Cauliflower gets a night of its own because it is the star of Shani’s menu. Baby brassicas adorn the walls of the restaurant before they’re brined and whisked into ovens, roasted whole with olive oil and salt until they’re crisp and deep brown. It’s served atop a thin sheet of paper for two or more diners to share.
That paper delivery system is another

Prepare to be charmed when you call +39 to make a reservation. No doubt you’ll hear a gorgeous Italian accent and shouts of ‘ciao!’ in the background. +39 is a valuable addition to Melbourne’s burgeoning pizza scene. It’s open for lunch and dinner daily and embraced by CBD workers as evidenced by the deafening noise on a Thursday night.
The long rectangular shaped restaurant has stark white walls, an exposed ceiling and a glass cabinet full of giant Italian cheeses and cured meats (vegetarians may need to avert their eyes). Although pasta dishes are available – Bolognese or cannelloni are on offer today – pizza is the darling here.
The swordfish pizza from the specials board is an odd combination that doesn’t quite hit the mark. Thin slices of milky white swordfish are laid on a base with fior di latte cheese, while a ‘salad’ of raw fennel, orange segments and pistachios is strewn on top. It deserves an A for originality but the ensemble is a little bland (particularly the fish) and could do with a good salting.
We go for the tartufata: truffle paste, topped with sliced mushrooms, finished with parmesan cheese and a little bundle of rocket in the centre. The bases at +39 are outstanding. They’re thin, chewy, beautifully puffed up round the edges with a wonderful buttery flavour. A side of radicchio salad is also lovely: it’s fresh, sweet with a truffle honey dressing.

There are two kinds of people in Melbourne, those who have heard of Aangan, and those who have not. For the uninitiated, Aangan is the 15-year-old, well-oiled machine serving multiregional Indian cuisine to the local community and anyone determined enough to travel for their near-flawless food. Footscray may be known as one of Melbourne’s main Vietnamese hubs, but if you keep heading west, you’ll find yourself in Little India.
There’s a little bit of an intelligence test getting into Aangan, the restaurant is glass-fronted with doorways blocked off by inside seating. The trick is to keep walking until you hit a narrow corridor to the side of the building that eventually leads to an entrance, a hectic takeaway area, and if you keep walking, a huge, tented courtyard packed with even more diners. It may be overwhelming on your first visit because Aangan is the kind of venue where they’re full from the minute they open until the minute they close, but the staff are so used to the controlled chaos that they never miss a beat. Needless to say, unless you like waiting for a table, you’d be smart to book ahead otherwise you’ll be left in food-purgatory, staring at large tables of Indian families sharing tandoori platters, curries, naans and biryanis; couples on first dates dipping into butter chicken; or groups of friends tucking into chaat.
The menu spans India, and even a little beyond with chaat and biryani from the north, dosa, idli and sambhar from the south, plus a range of f

When young Abla Amad came to Melbourne in 1954 she brought the love of cooking developed while watching her mother in their north Lebanese village. Later, she sharpened her culinary skills with the Lebanese women who would meet in each other’s kitchens to exchange recipes. Abla loved feeding people so much that meal-making for her family turned into hosting Sunday feasts for the community – and then came the restaurant.
Abla’s opened in 1979 in the same location it’s in today and upon entry you experience a pleasant time warp. The décor – white tablecloths, simple chairs and extravagantly framed paintings – hasn’t changed much since those early days, and the hospitality is instant: a warm welcome, olives and pita crisps already on your table, your wine whisked away for uncorking (it’s BYO for $10).
This is one of those places where it's worth considering the banquet. In the first event, charry baba ghanoush jostles for attention with creamy yet firm labne and chunky hummus. Next up, ladies’ fingers are so fine and buttery that the filo pastry barely contains the pine nuts and minced lamb spiked with cumin, allspice and sumac – you won’t be able to stop licking your fingers. The baked chicken wings in garlic and lemon are fall-off-the-bone tender, and in these days of 1,001 spices, such a simple dish is refreshing.
Abla does two versions of the Middle East’s beloved stuffed vegetables: one with silverbeet, the other with cabbage. Don’t leave without trying the former (it'

Acland Street Cantina is the Melbourne Pub Group’s new house of Mexican snacks, and no, it's not 'authentically Mexican'. But that’s OK. Chef Paul Wilson does great Cal-Mex. It’s the European/South American riff on the cuisine that unlike sour-creamy Tex-Mex, sees accents of radishes, figs and parsley join the often meaty taco party.
Dinner may start with chilled pumpkin 'guacamole', punching fresh with tomato salsa and festooned with pepitas and crumbled white queso fresco cheese. Scoop it up with plantain crisps, made from that starchy banana relative. It’s tasty, vibrant stuff that steers away from the oversubscribed norms, served up in another of Julian Gerner's great spaces. There’s a front café/late-night diner (3am!) decorated with so many fluoro pink lights and lolly stools it looks like Katy Perry. We actually prefer it out here to the restaurant, which aside from a compulsory Day of the Dead mosaic is just as dark and thumping with bass as when it was Mink nightclub.
Which makes it all the more disappointing that the service is letting them down. On our visit, the lack of knowledge of dishes and drinks is endemic, and though most staff are friendly enough, there’s chaos on the floor. But, forewarned is forearmed and if you can get past the glitches, there’s good food to be had here.
This is Wilson’s most Mexican offering to date (thanks to him having now actually been to Mexico). Tortillas are great. Thick and a little rough like a corn pancake for loading with g

You never think of Fitzroy as needing more brunch, but when you consider the quality of hangover the suburb can provide there isn’t nearly enough. Who can walk more than a block or queue for eggs after a night at the Evelyn, the Everleigh or both? Not us. And clearly not the folks who live near Mark Tuckey furniture. They’ve descended on Johnston Street’s latest bruncher like it’s the great white, macramé-filled hope.
They do a gold standard classic here. Corn fritters are like deep-fried kernel-studded cornbread, with grilled haloumi and hidden in a mixed lettuce hedge with fresh tomato salsa and poached eggs. The buckwheat pancake stack is as fat as a Victoria sponge and twice as nutritious: two inch-thick disks accessorised with poached quince and massive dollop of vanilla mascarpone.
The menu is basically a roll call of café foods we love: spongy crumpets from Dr Marty; pats of cultured Pepe Saya butter and pots of raspberry/rhubarb jam. It’s Little Bertha's chocolate praline cakes in the front counter, while behind them stands barista Cam Greene, who’s migrated just 100-metres down from where he was slinging cups at Doomsday. He’ll extract you a lip numbing shot from the good folks at Padre that’s equally sweet as a neat black shortie or a full fat flattie.
It's a double couple team making Addict run like it's on wheels. Greg and Brooke Brassil used to own a coffee roastery back in Shepparton. The floor team, lead by business partners Joe and Brooke Ventura, are alert

Food isn't always just sustenance. Whether it's spaghetti on toast or gefilte fish, the taste of a dish can evoke powerful personal and cultural memories. A little of that power seems to be at work at the Afghan Gallery, which for 24 years has been winning over Brunswick Street diners with generous servings of deceptively simple-looking food. The care with which it's prepared creates a strong impression that this food means something to the people behind the scenes. The family-owned restaurant occupies two storeys of an older-style building, the ground floor a conventional à la carte establishment with rugs and posters for colour, and the first floor laid out like a traditional Afghan banqueting room. The 'tent room' is an excellent space for parties: dimly lit and scattered with cushions, it encourages lingering as guests slide ever further under the low tables. The menu contains some amusingly vague descriptions, like spinach with “different spices” and mungbeans served with “vegetable dish”. If you need to know what’s in there, the staff will be happy to help, but if specific ingredients aren’t an issue it’s best to just relax and trust that the food will be good. Highlights include a qorma slow-cooked with chunks of eggplant so tender they collapse at the sight of a fork; lightly spiced meat samosas with homemade yoghurt; and a smooth, delicately flavoured yellow dhal served with perfect long-grained basmati rice with hints of cumin and clove. The bar is basic, but BYO

Iconic Melbourne restauranteur Paul Mathis has opened so many venues this year soon we’ll have to start counting them on our toes. One of these is Japanese izakaya Akachochin. Not the easiest name to pronounce but that doesn’t seem to have stopped the punters finding it – housed in a renovated cargo shed in blossoming South Warf. You’ll pick it from the red lanterns that hang outside. Inside it’s all long marble sushi bar, cool yellow tiled walls and tiny glazed rectangular plates.
The deal is Japanese pub food. At the helm is Kengo Hiromatsu (ex-Nobu) with a menu sectioned for you to divide and conquer - sushi, sashimi, grilled things, fried things, steamed things - all in moderate serving sizes with moderate price tags. The fish is fresh and expertly sliced. Previously passé menu items get the fun treatment - think potato cake stuffed with quail meat and deep fried, or a delicately sweet, sweet potato brulee. Then there’s the 50 strong list of sake, plum wine and shochu (Japanese hard-liquor, usually made with barley, rice or potato) - we bet you’d have liver failure before working the whole way through that one.

Never bereft of hyper-cool cafés and watering holes, we’re surprised it’s taken this long for Sydney Road to get serious restaurant credentials. It’s not far from Lygon Street, where Hellenic Republic, Kumo Izakaya, and Rumi cause a frenzy at feeding time, but unless you’re after beers, kebabs or the shiniest wedding dress known to man, Brunswick’s main drag leaves you hanging. Albert Street Food and Wine is changing that and the lady to thank is Melbourne’s queen of tarts Philippa Sibley.
The famed pastry chef packed up her whisk last year to write a cookbook (PS Desserts) and turn her attention to what she calls “normal cheffing”. Which, it seems, consists of transforming trout into pots of spreadable, smoky, bay leaf infused rillettes and working up a sweat at the pizza oven.
Albert Street is a well-designed cross breed of wine bar, restaurant and food store rolled into one light and airy semi-industrial eatery. There’s plenty of real estate, with booths, tables, and posts at the recycled-basketball-court bar for snack-and-dashers, plus all the Brunswick décor essentials like industrial light fittings and exposed beams.
The food is far more relaxed, use-your-hands gear than at Sibley’s former culinary homes (Bistro Guillaume, est est est – RIP), but everything has the chef’s finicky artful touches. Even simple cream of carrot soup has sweet, pan-fried scallop buoys, and is spiked with Italian Vin Santo dessert wine. Sibley ain’t no sugar-bound one-trick pony.
The pizze

Añada is Spanish for ‘year’s harvest’, an apt choice of name for a restaurant with a commitment to seasonal ingredients and a constantly shifting menu.
Established by a pair of Australian Hispanophiles, previously of London’s River Café and Melbourne’s much-loved Movida, this diminutive, warmly lit venue serves Spanish-style tapas and raciones without slavishly imitating ‘traditional’ Spanish cuisine.
Añada hold two dinner sittings per evening, at 6 and 8pm, and boasts a row of comfortable leather barstools for those only looking for a quick bite or a drink. Parties of eight or more are confined to a set menu, at $50 for a generous nine courses or $65 for an extravagant 12.
The kitchen has no difficulty catering to special diets – ours was a particularly awkward party of two omnivores, two vegetarians, two pescatarians and one vegan, and all of us dined like obnoxious Saudi princelings.
Highlights include natural oysters with lemon; fried eggplant with sour cream and slivers of very hot chilli; green tomato gazpacho with cucumber and green onion; whole mackerel wrapped in vine leaves; and sweet, tender mushrooms fried in ghee.
The very large sherry list is exclusively Spanish, while almost every wine, beer and liqueur offering is either Spanish or Australian.
The service is excellent: waitstaff are both observant and knowledgeable and the restaurant abounds in thoughtful, un-showy little touches, from the tiny pots of black salt on the tables to the fresh flowers in the

Tantuni involves sautéing finely chopped meat (traditionally beef) in a large shallow metal pan, and then rolling it up tightly in a flatbread with veggies and herbs. At Anatolia Tantuni, owner Burhan Kurucu makes his tantuni with beef or chicken (or a mix) that has been animated with red pepper flakes, smoky paprika and oregano. He wraps it up with diced tomato, sumac-coated red onion and parsley, which cut through the oily redness of the spiced meat, adding acidity, tangy bite and herby freshness. It’s the antidote to every disappointing kebab you’ve ever had, and it also comes as sandwich on Turkish bread, or deconstructed on a plate.
Burhan and his wife Birten opened Anatolia Tantuni in April, after arriving in Melbourne from Ankara mid-last year. The Kurucus saw a gap in the market for Turkey’s popular street food and struck while the pan was hot. Burhan is at the helm, singlehandedly frying, stuffing and wrapping kebabs – and welcoming customers with minimal English and maximum hospitality. Birten is behind the scenes, making gözleme filled with spinach and feta, or a vegan version with mushroom, capsicum and onion. Her börek are bursting with juicy minced beef or salty, lemony spinach offset by crumbly, buttery filo pastry. Don’t leave without trying the desserts – the cheesy künefe or sütlaç, a moreish milky rice pudding laced with nutmeg and orange zest.
Stretch your stomach capacity so that you don’t miss out on the Instagram-worthy beyti kebab – parcels of pita-w